It's not the Fall that Kills you
by Mangohawk
Summary: Sherlock gained his composure, a feat considering he's not supposed to be surprised by his own mind palace. "How did you survive the falls?" "Oh, Sherlock. It's not the fall that kills you, it's the landing." Jim paused, as he walked towards Sherlock as close as the chain would let him, which was half a meter away from the man. "Not only did I not land, Sherlock, I flew."


Sherlock sat on the floor of the living room, surrounded by the four, middle-aged victims of the serial killer running around London. There was something off about each photo. Clearly, they were an exact replica of Jack the Ripper's killings, but there was a slight difference in the victims. He had to know for sure. "John, do you think you could take Rosie to a park?"

"Mind palace," John asked.

"Mind palace." John picked up Rosie from her walker and grabbed the stroller. Sherlock heard his footsteps as he went down the stairs, and then the door creak open, then closed.

He closed his eyes and entered his mind palace. He approached the section where his knowledge of Victorian England resided. He searched through the information he had kept on Jack the Ripper and his victims. He searched from Mary Ann Nichols to Mary Jane Kelly until he found what made the copycat different from the original Jack the Ripper.

Sherlock was about to exit when he realized that the padded cell that used to hold Moriarty before he was pushed off the Reichenbach falls by Dr. Watson was still there.

"That's odd," he murmured to himself, "I could have sworn I had deleted it." Sherlock decided to leave it alone for another time, it didn't hold anything, it just took up space. He decided to delete later when he was bored. He left his mind palace…

…and found himself inside the padded cell, staring at Moriarty locked in a straightjacket changed to the wall.

"I thought I had deleted you," Sherlock whispered.

Moriarty smiled at him, calm. He stood up from where he was sitting against the wall. "You can't delete me."

Sherlock gained his composure, a feat considering he's not supposed to be surprised by his own mind palace. "How did you survive the falls?"

"Oh, Sherlock. It's not the fall that kills you, it's the landing." Jim paused, as he walked towards Sherlock as close as the chain would let him, which was half a meter away from the man. "Not only did I not land, Sherlock, I flew."

Sherlock blinked and found himself in Moriarty's place, his arms hugging him in the straightjacket and a collar around his neck, chained to the walls of the cells. Bewildered, Sherlock looked at where he used to be standing and saw Moriarty free, and wearing the same suit he wore at the pool.

"How?" Sherlock asked.

"The interesting thing about viruses is that they can be dormant in the hardware for an indefinite amount of time." Jim glanced down at his suit and straightened out a nonexistent wrinkle. Sherlock struggled against his bindings. "I told you, Sherlock, it always comes down to you and me."

"And John," Sherlock said, still struggling.

"Thank you! How could I forget about Johnny-boy?' Jim walked towards Sherlock until they were centimeters apart. "Can you imagine," he said, with a genuine smile on his face, "how fun it'll be to break John using your own hands?"

Sherlock tried to focus all his attention on getting out of the straightjacket.

"I heard he even has a child now, too. I wonder how excited she'll be to be held by her godfather," he mused.

"NO!" Sherlock growled, giving up on the jacket completely and just trying to get close enough to Moriarty so that he could hurt him.

"Well, I better be off. Wouldn't want to keep John and Rosie waiting." Jim left the cell. The door shut behind him and the lock clicked ominously. Sherlock was locked deep in his mind palace.

Jim opened Sherlock's eyes and took in 221B. The door to the flat opened, and John walked into the room, soaked, carrying an also soaked but happy little Rosie, and a folded-up stroller.

"Sorry we came back so soon," John said, "it started pouring outside."

"Oh, it's no problem John," Jim said with Sherlock's voice, "I figured it out."

"Already?" John put the stroller down, and held Rosie with both hands. She cooed.

"Yes, John," Jim said recalling the information Sherlock had discovered while in the mind palace, "The prostitutes that Jack the Ripper had killed all did their business in private, while the copycat is killing porn actors. What's the difference between the two?"

"Our copycat is killing porn actors, so actors," John guessed.

"Excellent, Johnny-Boy, I mean John. Private prostitutes are still around, so therefore the difference must be intentional. It's a warning or a threat to an actor who's recently arrived in London." Jim said, "What actors have come to London?"

Sherlock watched the scene play out on a screen that had appeared in the padded cell, feeling helpless as he tried and failed to get out of his mind palace.

 **AN: I came up with this idea when I realized how sentient Moriarty was in the Abominable Bride. I thought what would happen if he had somehow taken control of Sherlock's mind palace and then this happened. I was thinking that what is happening in Sherlock/Jim is Dissociative Identity Disorder, where the only reason Sherlock is conscious for everything is because he has a mind palace, but I'm don't know much about it. If you have DID and you find this representation insulting, then it probably isn't really DID and I apologize. Also, I'm no expert on Jack the Ripper either so what I've written is probably extremely inaccurate. Also, I REALLY want Moriarty to be back! I PROMISE I'll update the Glans building! Just keep pestering me.**


End file.
